


Pain meds don't do s***

by Webtrinsic



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Crying, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, No Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Pain, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18793993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: Tony is tasked with taking care of his wounded protege, who's metabolism leaves any form of medication useless.





	Pain meds don't do s***

**Author's Note:**

> I JUST WANNA GO TO DISNEYLAND BUT ME AND WOLFYPUPPYPILES STILL HAVE TO WAIT TILL NEXT MONTH AND I WANT IT NOW

Tony looked down at the kid, sleeping anything but idly. Wrapped in gauze, littered with bruises, bandaids and butterfly bandages sprinkled over the teen’s temples and brows. Stitches wound around the splits in his lips, and cast stood firm around his broken arm and broken leg.

The inventor still had no idea how this happened, the suit wasn’t online. Not for this, meaning someone had either randomly attacked his protege, or this was set up. Happy confirmed the suit was still up in the boy’s ceiling, and Tony’s mind raced in what could have happened to the kid in front of him.

Whimpers of pain and labored breaths filled the air, the pain medication doing absolutely nothing to help the young hero. The gauze traveled around the boy’s throat and up around the left side of his face, covering the eye that was stained black and blue.  Helen had assured the teen would heal fine, no marks, no scars, his healing factor would cover it all. In time.

Tony was grateful for that, but his mind wouldn’t be clear until the kid wasn’t a sweaty mess that was passed out in pain while he could do nothing about it. Pacing beside the bed, Tony checked his phone incase May called back, she was stuck at some nurse thing in Boston.

Peter had been home alone for the week, they didn’t think it was a particularly bad idea, but of course, trouble found Peter. It somehow always did. 

“Mr. Stark?” the boy asked, voice hoarse and croaky. The eye that was uncovered was open, not fully, but Tony could see the boy was groggy. 

“Hey Pete,” Tony returned, taking a seat on the bed as the boy moved to face him. “Easy,” he warned when the action had the boy wincing.

“What happened?” the boy questioned softly, his free arm coming up to inspect his wrapped throat.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” the man returned,  running a hand through the boy’s hair where it seemed uncomfortably tucked beneath the gauze. He could see the cogs in the boys head turning, only to have pain disrupt those thoughts until the kid finally just shook his head no.

“I’m sorry,” Tony disapproved of the apology, paternal feelings fluttering when the boy leaned his head back against the hand still in his hair. The boy’s nose crinkled everytime the pain spiked, or his head swam. 

Tony watched sadly, not knowing how to reassure the teen other than helping fluff the pillows and tucking the blankets around him with fretting hands. Peter fell asleep again after that, likely unable to stay awake.

“There’s an uncredited message for you sir,” the ceiling chimed. The timing making the man look up, he stared hard at the child, his heart telling him this was because of him. 

“Play it,” he barked, wincing at his own loudness, but the boy didn’t stir. 

“I’m so damn sick of working for you, I had to hurt him. I had too! Maybe then you’d realize you don’t deserve everything, I don’t know how you got your life, but it should have been me. I didn’t slave for years to not get anything from it, you are...you are…” the message ended, and Tony growled.

The injuries littering the spider had the mechanics temples throbbing,  _ had _ , the bastard said  _ had.  _ Anyone who  _ had _ to hurt a small defenseless child deserved to get their ass beat. And Tony would. Tony would tear the bastard apart.

“Friday go through all our interview footage, find a voice match,”

\---

Tony’s knuckles were red, but that bastard was rotting in jail for assaulting a minor. _But Peter_. Peter was still suffering. Still crying in pain, still shaking and sweating; breaths heaving and painful around his bruised ribs.

The kid spent an hour the other day, curled on his side, screaming. And Tony meant screaming, into a pillow because his broken bones were flaring. Tony didn’t know how bad it would be today, but each day seemed worse and worse.

The loud flaring of the alarm bells went off, disrupting the inventor as he dropped the cup of coffee he’d been making before Peter had fallen off the bed and onto his injuries. When Tony entered the room he could tell Peter was out of his mind, delusional.

Eyes glassy, face flushed, his good arm clutching his chest that continued to spasm with his uneven breaths. The fall likely knocking the wind out of him. Tears flowed endlessly, the kid wrapped and caught in his blanket on the floor.  Crying for help, crying in pain, scared.

“Peter,” Tony called softly, hoping to direct the boy’s attention to him as he carefully got to his knees. Not close enough to touch in case Peter panicked.

“Mr. Stark?” the boy asked, red eye locking onto him. Fearfully, pleading, begging for help. The kid tried to untangle himself and scurry closer, but couldn’t, which only led to more aches, pains, and salty tears.

Coming closer, the older avenger gently wound his arms around the boy. Supporting his lower back, and the space between the boy’s shoulder blades before easing the boy into his lap. The child hiccuping into the man’s throat. His good arm holding painfully to the man’s shoulder.

Likely not realizing his strength, luckily it wasn’t too bad. Tony figured this is what it felt like to stick his shoulder into a vice. It’d bruise, but Peter had far more than himself so he could deal with a purple shoulder.

“Yeah kid, I’m here,” The man assured, pressing a kiss to the boy’s hairline. Holding him closely as the boy regained his composure the best he could, “You want some water?”

The teen nodded, the action less than confident. His unobscured eye half way opened, clearer than before but seemingly defeated, tired, as he looked up at his mentor. Giving a weak smile, Tony brushed the boy’s sweat slicked hair back. Waving to the roof for Friday to fetch someone, as he debated getting the boy back onto the bed before his water was brought to him. But he decided against it, he’d give the boy a little more time before he jostled him.

Happy stepped in, worriedly looking down at the pair as he handed the water bottle over. Tony holding it to the boy’s lips until Peter sipped it messily. Drips falling down his cheeks, but the boy drank hungrily and didn't seem to mind.

In fact he was upset when his mentor pulled the bottle away when he drank too fast, but Tony wasn’t in the mood to clean up any throw up or add to the boy’s pain with a upset stomach. So when the teen whimpered he earned another stream of water down his throat, that Tony directed himself.

“I’m sorry kid, I know,” 

Happy gave a look to his boss, his own way of asking if there was anything he could do.

“You ready to get back on the bed Peter?” Tony asked, not getting an answer as the boy buried himself against his collarbone. Now softly crying, the thought of having to move and jostle his already aching bones was horrifying.

“Hurts,” the boy stuttered, biting his lip and the stitches around it, and Tony’s heart was breaking. Looking to Happy who was watching tersely, the man leant down and helped the inventor get to his feet. The arachnid keened, sinking into the covers as the two lifted up the guardrails. Higher than they were before, because Tony was not going to let him fall again.

The inventor brushed the boy’s hair back with his fingers, watching as the crease in boys brows fell away. Tired eyes watching as the kid tried to keep his breathing level. Tears slowly falling, as Tony moved to sweep them away.

“I’m sorry,” the boy apologized, lower lip wobbling, voice wrecked. 

“It’s not your fault Pete,” Tony returned, wanting to roll his eyes because of course only Peter would apologize for being attacked.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” the boy protested, not in the same way he normally would. Not in anyway sounding like a whiny teen who didn’t want to be smothered, Peter very obviously just didn’t want to be a bother.

“You’re my kid Pete, I’m always going to take care of you,” the tears that fell now were from something beside pain, but the boy gave a shy smile. Nodding, and accepting his mentors care. 

The pain not disappearing, but it was much more manageable with Tony around. 


End file.
